SEVENTY-EIGHT
Seth parts the fingers he was hiding behind, to see Emory standing in the fog, holding her palm out. The insects are covering it like a glove, but they’re not doing her any harm. They’ve even dimmed their glow, making it easier to look directly at them.
‘What the –’
Emory smiles giddily, scattering the insects with a shake of her hand.
‘I should have seen it straight away. The only person who could have killed Niema …’ she says. ‘… is Niema.’